This week was full of less-than-restful nights. Waking up on the hour every hour. Sometimes that happens. After a long run of these, the dazed walk through of the days which because of lack of pause between, combine into something larger. Unending. Then finally, a good night's sleep. Waking up feeling like yesterday was a month ago. In the mirror, asking how did it happen? Will it happen again soon? Have I learned anything? Answers upcoming.

Sundays are good days to make breakfast, hot on the stove. You put a half-cup of oats and some cinnamon into a cup and a half of salted boiling water. It foams up and you turn it down most of the way. It bubbles. You think of swimming in the ocean. The water in the kettle has boiled and you pour it over some tea. In a large bowl, raisins, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds. The oats, now ready, pour over top. The raisins swell, the seeds soften. You stare at the steam for a while, and then remember that you're hungry.

Below is a poem. Consider passing it on to someone who might enjoy it. As always, I’m here if you need to chat. Sunday Poems continues to be supported by a few generous backers over on Patreon. If you have an extra dollar or two a month and you appreciate reading these, please consider becoming a Patreon backer, so that I can dedicate more time to writing on this blog. Have a good week, everybody. You can do it.

calcify

knowing each other in small wayscan make us know each other in big ways.

you really suck out my tears,but sometimes working on thesetakes a long time.

i see you like some kind of mirror,we find our wisdom somewhere.

oh, how we dissolve when prompted!

Theodore Fox is a poet living on Treaty Six land in Canada.Sunday Poems is supported via Patreon.If you enjoy this work, consider becoming a patron.website | twitter | instagram